


Defenseless

by Zaxal



Series: Kinktober 2018 [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Begging, Bondage, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Edgeplay, Established Relationship, Knifeplay, M/M, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-11
Updated: 2018-10-11
Packaged: 2019-07-29 10:21:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16262216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zaxal/pseuds/Zaxal
Summary: For Kinktober Day 3: Knifeplay / Edgeplay.





	Defenseless

Arms wrapped around him, and Chris fought every instinct inside of him that said to fight back. A breath hot on the nape of his neck, the scent of some subtle cologne and leather in his nose. He gritted his teeth and held still, unwilling to help Peter even as he submitted. This was the nature of their truce, Chris’s punishment for his past sins and satiation for the madness that burned everything they had once been to each other, everything Peter had been to him, until there was nothing left but ash.

Peter’s hands slid down to the sheath pressed against his thigh, and Chris felt the weight of the knife slide free. “And here I was, thinking we were past weaponry.”

Chris felt the tip of it drag up the denim of his jeans, pressing deliberately hard enough to be felt without breaking through the fabric. He hated the heated flutter of his gut, the stirring of excitement. His body had been well-trained.

He chuckled humorlessly. “No, you weren’t.” Chris hadn’t been unarmed in the vast years that they’d known each other.

He could just stand here and take it; that was the unspoken agreement. But Chris knew better, knew that Peter would grow bored of him if there was no fire to put out, if there was no proof that he was harming him below the surface.

“You wound me, Christopher.”

“I could,” Chris said. The tip of the knife skimmed his fly, his belt, and pushed beneath the thin fabric of his shirt. The edge dragged up against his skin, and Chris found himself holding his breath.

Peter noticed, of course. Must have also heard the rapid thumping of his heart, smelled the fear.

It would be so easy. Peter didn’t have a hunter’s precision, but he didn’t have to. It would take nothing to turn the knife and jam it through Chris’s body, to slice up and let the guts and assorted viscera flow free.

He felt Peter’s smile on his neck and the delicate scrape of his fangs.

“You should trust me more,” he murmured in Chris’s ear, his voice going straight to Chris’s dick. “When have I ever harmed you?”

“Do you want the list?”

“Please,” Peter laughed. “Nothing you haven’t walked away from.”

The knife traveled higher, the blade skimming his ribs, his pecs, and just when Chris was starting to wonder if Peter was _going_ anywhere with this, Peter turned the blade outward, and, with very little effort, sliced down the front of Chris’s shirt, leaving it hanging from the sleeves.

Peter nestled his head on Chris’s shoulder, running the flat of the blade up and down his abs. Chris kept his eyes screwed closed, trying not to think about how hard he was getting from this.

It would have been a mercy for Peter not to notice, which meant that he did. Chris bit back a groan as the tip dragged over the hard line in his jeans.

Peter clicked his tongue, and Chris could imagine his wicked grin. “You never change, do you?”

“Wish I could say the same.”

The pressure on his dick increased, and Chris’s breath faltered as he went stiff. He didn’t let himself breathe until Peter eased off, using the knife to inelegantly undo his belt. “Careful, Christopher. You know what they say about playing with fire.”

Peter drew back, grabbing the back of Chris’s shirt before Chris could shrug out of it. With a harsh yank, he pulled the sleeves down to Chris’s wrists, pulling his arms back. Fabric dug into his skin, and Chris hissed through his teeth as Peter twisted it further, pulling his wrists closer together. Unyielding, though Chris could get out of it if he tried.

He didn’t.

Peter pushed him onto the bed, laughing as he stumbled and fell, turning to glare up at the wolf.

Peter sat the knife down on the bed with a devilish smirk, climbing up after him. He grabbed Chris’s hips and hauled him into his lap, making Chris feel where Peter was hard as well.

“You should stop ruining my clothes.”

“Stop wearing clothes begging to be ruined,” Peter said so casually that Chris could, for a moment, pretend to forget what this was. “Or stop wearing them altogether.” He skimmed his claws down Chris’s abs to his open belt, ripping the button of his jeans off with a flick of his wrist. “What do you think?”

Chris said flatly, “You’re not responsible enough to have a pet.”

Peter’s grin widened, his claws scraping over Chris’s hips, catching on the waist of his jeans and underwear. “What about a bitch?”

“Go fuck yourself.”

Peter chuckled, grinding his hips against Chris’s ass, making Chris all the more aware of how vulnerable he’d made himself, and that for all of his biting back, he wasn’t making any effort to put distance between them or put an end to this. It was humiliating, but that was the point.

“Let me ask you an easier question.” His gaze turned intense as he leaned forward, practically folding Chris in half as he braced his hands on either side of his head. “Blood or lube?”

Chris gritted his teeth, glaring. Behind his back, his hands clenched into fists. Being made to ask for it, made to tell Peter how he wanted to be fucked — it would hurt less to have the knife twisting inside of him.

Peter wore a mask of patience, eyes boring into Chris. “I can always choose for you,” he said as if they were discussing dinner options.

Chris had never trusted Peter enough to let him actually make the choice. He gritted out, “Lube.”

Peter smiled almost softly, trailing his thumb over the grain of Chris’s stubble. He cupped his face like a lover, all traces of his claws gone. “That’s what I thought.”

He pulled away to divest Chris of the rest of his clothes save for the makeshift cuffs as well as shed his own. The lube was traitorously nearby, damning proof of how often this happened. Chris set his jaw as Peter climbed back between his legs, closing his eyes. He flinched at the touch of Peter’s hand to his cock, slick and inviting and Chris strained not to move. He didn’t want to give Peter the satisfaction, not when he knew what came next.

Inch by inch, Peter sank inside, slow torture that punched the wind out of Chris’s lungs as he burned from the inside out. He couldn’t cry. Physically couldn’t. But a pained noise choked in his throat as his body gave way to the intrusion, aching though not as much as it would have if Peter hadn’t slicked himself up beforehand.

A hand smacked the side of his face, and Chris’s eyes flew open, eyes wild and restraint trembling.

Peter’s eyes glowed, menacing murderer blue. The offending hand curled around Chris’s jaw as gentle as everything else was harsh. “Howl for me,” Peter said as he rolled his hips back and _slammed_ forward.

Chris arched off the bed, and the noise that tore itself from his chest was anything but human.

“That’s it,” Peter said, his voice a low and dangerous murmur. He fucked Chris with methodical patience, not simply content with getting himself off. He added more lube and took it slow until Chris’s body began to open up, until the first moan slipped from Chris’s lips, hips flexing to meet Peter’s thrusts. “That’s it, Christopher.”

His fingers curled harshly in Chris’s short hair, yanking his head back and pulling him down to meet his thrusts. Peter nosed his exposed throat, skimming his fangs over the thin, delicate skin as Chris thrashed beneath him, unable to get away from Peter fucking into him, unable to fight back, forced to let go.

The words fell from his lips in a near delirium, “Hale. Hh- Hale. Fuck. Fuck, there.”

“There?” Peter purred, grinding into the spot again and again until Chris was struggling to catch his breath.

“There- there, fuck-” When Peter let up, Chris opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling as he panted. “Hale,” he said, more demanding than he should, really, but-

“Say it.” Peter’s voice thrummed against Chris’s throat.

“Hale,” he started, warning.

“Argent,” Peter said, tone suddenly devoid of any friendliness, any feigned attempt at softening this brutal act. “Say it.”

The threadbare remains of his pride demanded that he resist. His cock throbbed, aching to be touched.

One feeling was certainly stronger than the other.

“Fuck me.” The whisper squeezed out of his throat.

“Hmm?” Peter hummed. “Didn’t quite catch that.”

The dam had already broken. “Fuck me, Peter.”

“What’s the magic word?”

“ _Please_.”

“All together, now.”

“Please,” Chris growled, “fucking fuck me.”

“Say my name,” Peter growled back, voice rougher as he started to slide his hips back.

“Peter,” Chris breathed and was rewarded with Peter thrusting forward. Pain and pleasure bloomed at the center of Chris, and he was helpless to stop himself. “Peter.”

“Keep going,” he ordered as he fucked him in earnest, slamming his hips home quicker and harder until Chris was again struggling to breathe.

“Peter,” he begged, and Peter gave a feral growl, sinking his teeth into Chris’s shoulder as he came. It took longer than it should for Chris to realize that his teeth were flat, human. It was unlikely that Peter even broke the skin. Peter’s hips continued to twitch into him as he rode his orgasm out. 

Slowly, he reached a hand between them. “Say it,” Peter demanded against the indents of his teeth on Chris’s body, hand wrapping around Chris’s aching cock.

“Let me-”

“On your own, then?”

Chris’s jaw tightened, and he forced the words out. “Make me come, Peter.” The very tip of a claw traced over the slit of his cockhead, and Chris hardly felt the pain. “Please.”

A few quick strokes, and Chris came into Peter’s hand with a shout. They lay there for a few moments, sweaty, sticky, and entwined until Peter finally moved, slipping out of Chris’s ass, and Chris felt himself leak onto the bed. His heart thudded heavily in his ears even as he sat up, ignoring the twinge of pain to untwist the remains of his shirt, freeing his hands.

By the time he bothered to look and see if Peter was staying for a second round, he was already gone.


End file.
